


i try to make do with much more of less

by nancalance



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (sort of its like right after they graduate), Angst, Closeted Character, Derek Nurse is A Mess, Future Fic, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Slow Burn, William Poindexter Doesn't Understand Feelings, add the angst tag, but it'll be happy ok?, do i need to like, it's real good i promise you, just read it ok, ok come to me my grubby sadfic babies, there's some sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nancalance/pseuds/nancalance
Summary: Things happen, and then, they don't.or;Derek Nurse is an absolute disaster of a man, and William Poindexter lives ten blocks away.





	i try to make do with much more of less

**Author's Note:**

> my goal is to have my girlfriend read one of my fics without knowing its me and i know she sorts by comments so lets just comment a fuckin storm up here ok thx 
> 
> \--
> 
> hello and welcome to exposition land everyone should listen to joy again
> 
> also welcoming beta readers for this garbage fic

Things happen.

It’s the best way to describe Nursey’s senior year. After Bitty moves out, the Haus falls into the hands of the frogs and tadpoles. The cupboards are cleared of anything remotely nutritious, and they go back to living like Ninja Turtles. Between semi-fugue states, Nursey manages to write a thesis, dedicated to sriracha-drowned cup noodles and adderall, but it’s not half-bad. Classes are simpler this year, most of them just filling last-minute requirements for his major, or satisfying his impatient advisor, who doesn’t believe that second semester senior year is the right time to complete distribution credits.

Nursey gets good grades, keeps good company, and makes good choices. He and Louis plan every kegster with the same amount of attention to detail that Nursey had written his thesis with, and when he’s not busy with classwork, he takes the time to teach Tango a thing or two about the world, just a bit worried about when he’s sent out in a year. Somewhat reluctantly, he and Whiskey manage to develop something like a friendship, and his bond with Chowder grows stronger with every passing second.

At night, they sit out in the Reading Room, breathing in cool air and talking about their futures. Chowder’s going back to California, and Nursey’s known that, but it still stings him to hear. Nursey will end up in New York, probably, or somewhere in that region, which Chowder knows, and never seems to disagree with. They hold hands some nights, leaning into each other, begging for calls every once in a while. A lot of promises are made past midnight, and a lot of things that’ve gone unspoken are all said.

They’ll miss each other, Nursey knows, but it’s no revelation.

In the most convoluted turn of events, Nursey manages to befriend Dex. They move in, still with a begrudging respect for one another, and for the first few weeks of the semester, they just tolerate each other. Nursey takes the bottom bunk, Dex takes top; Nursey does his work at the leftmost desk, Dex does his at the right; Nursey’s clothes live in the top two drawers of the dresser, Dex’s in the bottom. They’re content like this. 

Sometimes, there’s arguments, like when Nursey leaves the lights on and Dex moans about the power bill. Or, when Dex gets sick and just tosses his tissues on the ground, making it a minefield when Nursey wakes up to a floor of snotty tissues. But other times, there’s little chats that they have in the middle of the night before a game. Their white noise competes against the other’s, and above it, they confide in each other like only d-men do. Ransom and Holster had described the bond once, but Nursey feels better in actually experiencing it. His chest aches when Dex tells him about how before their first game, he threw up he was so afraid to fail in front of Jack Zimmermann, and now, he’s most afraid to choke in front of Derek Nurse.

In exchange, Nursey tells him about when he had cried on the ice at Andover, and the subsequent bullying that’d followed him for the rest of the year. They talk about his friendship with Shitty, and his connection to Chowder. When nobody else is around, Dex tells Nursey about his parents and his grandparents, and summers in Maine. Breathing in sync, they recount tales of fear, and of felicity, and speak truths they’ve buried deep down.

When the moon is high, Dex says things that are not to be repeated outside of their four walls, and Nursey keeps the secret as sunlight washes over them.

 

Things happen more intensely after Halloween.

With half the school crammed into the Haus, it seems that Nursey and Louis’ meticulous kegster planning has paid off. They’ve got every drop of booze accounted for, decorations hung with a keen attention to detail, even their costumes planned down to the most minuscule of accessories. Everyone is armed with a date, even a reluctant, still closeted, Dex. He’s got the softball captain hanging off his arm, staring up at him like it’s her job. Nursey comes with a boy from his early-19th century literature course, and they make nice conversation, but he’s full of himself, and uninterested in making a good impression.

Halfway through the party, Nursey manages to shake him in the crowd, slipping out through the back door, and in again through the front, hiding out in the kitchen to get his bearings. With Bitty gone, there’s nothing left to protect in here, and so the drunkards run rampant, wailing as they splash beer and tub juice all over themselves. Nursey squeezes up against the far wall, staring blankly at the bulletin board that’s been long abandoned.

He ought to put something up there. 

Nursey’s got plenty of posters that he could put up, or maybe, he could adopt Bitty’s idea from  _ his  _ sophomore year and tack up a chore wheel. It might help with all of Dex’s griping about being the one to clear the shower drain, or Tango’s many complaints about ending up on kegster clean-up duty. But he can’t think of enough things to put up, not outside of kegster cleaning, which is really a job for the whole Haus, or cleaning the drain of white people hair, which isn’t relevant to half the Haus. If there’s nothing good to be put up, then maybe there shouldn’t be anything at all, but Nursey figures that something belongs in the empty space.

“Too loud for you?” Nursey turns, and it’s just shy of two in the morning, and Dex is next to him, and speaking, and Nursey is holding a lukewarm beer, “Me too. I swear, even with half of these idiots gone, it’s still… Agh.”

“Agh.” Nursey echoes, and he takes a sip of his beer. It’s terrible.

“Come on,” Dex nudges him, “get poetic on me. Give me something better than ‘agh.’”

“Roaring. Thunderous. Steronian-.”

“That’s made up.”

“It isn’t.”

Dex shakes his head, and Nursey takes another sip of his beer, feeling something deeply unsettling in the pit of his belly. It makes him drink again, but the sensation only gets worse, so he goes to look for Dex again, to tell him that he feels sick and needs to lie down, but nobody’s there, and he’s got a solo cup full of water, and his head is  _ swimming _ .

“You looked like you needed that,” In an instant, Dex is back at his side, and Nursey feels no less disorientated than he did a few minutes ago, but when he looks to the clock, it’s been over an hour, and his stomach is unsettled again. So, he sips the water, “Come on, Nurse, you’re looking green around the gills still. Let me take you to bed.”

“I don’t know where Julian went,” Nursey murmurs, and the mention of the name sends a spike of nausea through his body. He swallows down the bile with another sip of water, staring at the wall right next to him, admiring it’s chips and cracks.

Julian probably went home, Nursey thinks. Julian probably didn’t even bother looking for him, Nursey thinks. Julian was probably more worried about keeping his hair all nice and perfect and pretty that he didn’t even care, Nursey thinks. Julian probably wasn’t even interested in the kegster, he just tagged along to be nice.

Nursey could go down this rabbit hole for ages, and he’s tempted to. What asshole loses their date, then makes no effort to even come find him? An asshole like Julian, Nursey thinks, that’s the asshole. He had been perfectly pleasant in class, a real charmer. But of course, no man is ever truly perfect, and Nursey hates himself for expecting something like that.

He’d written a poem about it in English, even. It had been titled something very artsy and poetic, something that Julian would adore and that Dex would hate, and suddenly, Nursey realizes that he’s lost track of Dex and time.

The solo cup is gone. There’s weight under him now, and when Nursey looks, he realizes that it’s his mattress. Really, it’s good that he’s sitting down, considering his legs are jell-o, and his other body parts aren’t faring much better. Nursey’s stomach still swirls, but he feels less drunk now, and when he stares into the blackness of his room, nothing stares back, which means he’s done a good job at remembering  _ D.A.R.E. _

All in all, a kegster well-done, even if he’s a bit miffed about getting no kisses, or any real attention, for that matter.

“Alright, Nurse,” Dex is in the doorway now, holding his toothbrush in one hand, and Nursey’s in the other. This Dex is shirtless, his eyes dark and heavy with insomnia, and freckles flecked across his chest. He tosses a toothbrush at Nursey, “Brush.”

“I’m really drunk.” Nursey tells him.

“Maybe it’s because I wasn’t counting, but I don’t think so.”

“I wasn’t either.”

Dex shrugs his shoulders, and disappears into the bathroom, and the sick feeling comes back to Nursey’s stomach. He’s never been drunk like this, hell, he’s not even sure if he’s drunk at this point. It’s beyond drunk, it’s beyond high, it’s some weird, new feeling that doesn’t make him feel good like booze. Distantly, he wonders if he’s been slipped something, but it doesn’t even feel like that.

It feels bad all over. But organically bad. Not chemically bad.

“Nursey,” Dex is whispering. “What are you doing?”

And Nursey’s got his lips just a few centimeters from Dex’s, his fingers all tangled up in red locks, both of their eyes half-lidded and relaxed, and their breath intermingling. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know if this is his idea or the bad feeling’s, but that feeling is gone, and it’s replaced with warmth in his tummy, tingling up through his spine, settling nice and easy at the base of his skull.

“I think,” Nursey’s fingertips ghost over Dex’s vertebrae, “that I’m kissing you?”

“I think that we’re both drunk,” And Dex’s hands are on Nursey’s hips, and he’s so close that Nursey can just taste the whiskey on his tongue, “and that we should go to bed.”

“I’m not drunk. Are you?”

“No,” Dex’s eyes are like little pools of gold, peering deep into Nursey’s soul. He shifts on the mattress, his foot looping around Nursey’s ankle, drawing their legs closer as they tangle up together, and Dex breathes softly against Nursey’s cheek. Like always, he’s slow and careful, two hands on Nursey’s skin, as though if he lets go, then he’ll be alone, “This is a bad idea.”

“Is it?”

“No,” Nursey can feel the hair raising on the back of Dex’s neck.

Dex is moving closer, and Nursey’s heart is beating faster, and all of a sudden, it’s like an explosion is going off in the room. Nursey’s got his hand on Dex’s neck, feeling his pulse racing while they grind and mash together, lips interlocked, their tongues lashing the other’s skin as they wrestle on the mattress. In a swift movement, Dex tears Nursey’s shirt from his body, his blunt nails raking across his chest. When Nursey pulls him back against him, he can hear Dex whimper and moan, his fingers tugging at his jeans.

“Nursey,” He’s whining, “Nursey.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I-I don’t think I should be...” And Dex takes Nursey’s hand and squeezes it tight, letting out a quivering moan as he does. “This is a bad idea.”

But Dex doesn’t leave. He buries his nose in the crook of Nursey’s neck, pressing toothy kisses to his skin, holding onto fistfuls of curls while he shifts and grinds. For his part, Nursey doesn’t do much, just lets Dex have his way.

“This is a bad idea,” He whispers into Nursey’s hair. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Because we’re roommates?”

“Because I’m not gay.”

“I think this is pretty gay,” Nursey tells him, tucking his hands into the back pockets of Dex’s jeans. They’re itchy and starched to hell and back, but Nursey likes the feeling of being close to him like this. “Or bi, I guess. Maybe pan?”

“Nurse,” Dex starts to straighten, pulling his hands back to the mattress. His hair’s all mussed now, his face flushed like he’s been shotgunning all night. “This is a bad idea.”

“Maybe it is.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Okay,” Nursey removes his hands from Dex’s pockets. The sick feeling starts creeping back, and he lies back against his pillow.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” Nursey waves, but Dex doesn’t move. He’s staring at him with this panicked look on his face, mouth agape while he watches Nursey shift against his bedding. It’s like he’s seen a ghost, but he doesn’t seem terrified.

Just unsettled.

“Come on, Dex. This isn’t your bunk.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” Again, Nursey waves. Again, Dex is still. “You’ve got to go up the ladder if you want to get to bed. Remember that? Remember how we go to bed?”

There’s an edge to his voice now, and Nursey feels he’s being a little mean. And maybe he is, but he’s pissed, and feeling righteous about it. He’s been baited and switched, told one minute that Dex has known he’s gay since he was twelve, and now, he’s told that the man he’s been gnawing on for the past fifteen minutes is straight. Nursey has put himself on blast, taken off his carefully constructed shell, made him his most vulnerable, and Dex has betrayed the trust he placed in him.

Or, maybe he hasn’t. He doesn’t owe Nursey anything for grinding on him; there’s no required quickie for a gnarly makeout session. None of what Nursey wants is owed, even if he feels that he deserves it. He knows better than to expect sex for some flash of connection, but he still feels wronged for not getting anything out of the incident.

By the time Nursey stops sulking, Dex is gone.

 

Things continue to happen.

Dex apologises to Nursey, tells him that it’s not a big deal. He’d got caught up in the moment, Dex explains, he didn’t know what he was doing. Nursey tells him that everything’s fine, although they both know it’s a lie. It’s a tense friendship from that point on, and they take turns rooming with Chowder on roadies, the other grabbing Tango or a waffle. Everything is polite, but curt, and there’s no more midnight talks.

Sometimes, Dex will roll over and ask if Nursey’s still awake, so he’ll hide his phone screen and hold his breath until Dex goes back to bed. When Nursey seeks him out for some easy companionship, Dex will cry class, and run out of the Haus before anything can happen.

It’s just how it goes.

The semester winds down. Chowder gets a contract with the Sharks, and packs for San Jose. Nursey gets his first publishing deal, and prepares to face New York alone. Dex signs with the Rangers, and complains endlessly about real estate prices in the city. He starts to skip out on kegsters to spend time with his new NHL friends, and swaps stories with Jack whenever he and Bitty come to visit. And everytime, Nursey’s gut churns with bitterness and rage.

It isn’t purely jealousy. Sure, his singular offer- with the Canucks- didn’t compare to the plethora of contracts flung at Dex and Chowder, but he didn’t harbor any resentment on that front. After all, Nursey had been the one to reject the Canucks’ kindly GM, not feeling like he could make Vancouver a home. They’d even invited him up for a few skates, but he felt awkward and uncomfortable on the ice, only feeling good when he was back at Faber. Maybe, Nursey figured, it had been a sign that there’ll be nothing better than Samwell.

So, he turns them down, and still thinks bitterly about Dex signing. It’s not the idea of one William J. Poindexter- who had declared Manhattan a den of asshattery- on  _ his  _ turf and living in Nursey’s world, and it’s definitely not the thought of a freckled face showing up whenever he turns on the NHL Network. Maybe, it’s the fact that Dex repeats the same story of meeting Sid Crosby at every kegster he manages to attend, or it could be the camaraderie he develops with Jack. On the off-chance that it is the Waffles’ blind worship, or that it’s the way that the Taddies cater to Dex’s every beck and call- Nursey wouldn’t know.

There’s something upsetting about having nobody to pick his brain about his decision to go with traditional publishing over self, but it isn’t as bad as the lack of people willing to discuss the intricacies of the traditional system. Still, it’s not anything like jealousy, it’s just a feeling of emptiness, and in comparison to the fullness Dex must feel? It’s isolating.

Before the Rangers had been offering him millions to shoot a puck around, there were offers from just about every team in North America. Hell, even the Oilers, knowing damn well they couldn’t afford him, were at Dex’s door offering him just shy of three million. There were better offers out there, too. The Capitals had come by with more than three and a half million on the table, and the Habs were offering up free room and board for the first year.

All that Nursey had been offered was the choice of the Canucks, or a small publishing firm at the edge of Brooklyn. His parents, professors, and even his stick-in-the-mud advisor had showered him with praise, but it had dwindled, and so did the thrill of signing his first publishing deal. The glitz and glamour of getting a contract like that faded almost instantly, as opposed to the ever-present glory of a season-long arrangement with the Rangers.

So, maybe it is jealousy.

But it’s definitely not jealousy.

 

Things stop happening after graduation.

Derek- no longer Nursey- moves to a modest studio in Manhattan. He quits thinking about Will- no longer Dex- living in the same borough, and focuses on writing his chapters and meeting his deadlines. In between revisions, Mr. Nurse- as his agent calls him- hits up his boss’ cocktail parties, and talks semantics with the other authors. They share manuscripts, give advice, and all of a sudden, Derek doesn’t pine for Samwell so much anymore.

Lennox & Croft’s offices are his new Faber, and he starts to delight in the way that the light streams through their windows. It had been a church in another lifetime, and the stained glass paints his dear publisher’s office in such a beautiful, orange glow that he could write endless poetry for it. But he’s writing a novel, not an anthology, so he brings up the idea of a chapter in a cathedral, and Lennox goes crazy for it.

He takes daily walks through Union Square, and tries to ignore the angry tugging in his chest whenever he sees a sprig of ginger hair in the crowd. As the NHL season begins, Derek makes a point to support Chowder- and Jack, but Chowder comes first- even when the SMH’s group chat is in a tizzy over Dex’s first NHL goal. It’s a lesson in self-care, Derek tells himself, a lesson in leaving behind the past.

It’s a lesson, he thinks, in letting go.


End file.
